


the life this is

by Code16



Series: Just World [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Beating, Crying, Enslaved Mages, Group punishment, Mage!John, Other, Punishment, Torture, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As throughout this verse, mages in this world are considered dangerous by nature, put in collars that restrain their powers, and enslaved. </p>
<p>Current chapter: during army training</p>
<p><i>World notes:</i> when they assemble in groups, mages are trained to stand or sit in a grid pattern such that it is easy to see they are not touching each other.</p>
    </blockquote>





	the life this is

**Author's Note:**

> As throughout this verse, mages in this world are considered dangerous by nature, put in collars that restrain their powers, and enslaved. 
> 
> Current chapter: during army training
> 
> _World notes:_ when they assemble in groups, mages are trained to stand or sit in a grid pattern such that it is easy to see they are not touching each other.

At the magehouse, group punishments were done it turns. Sitting on the floor in their grid, called up one by one. If it was behind a door then waiting, hearing. If it wasn’t then watching (the minders would see it, if you turned away. If you tried). The army’s done it that way too, sometimes, has done. And sometimes is more efficient.

They came when called, of course. To the hall, to stand in their grid. To form their line instead, when told. Knew what was coming, almost surely, even before anything the minder said had told them why. Palpably. (The mage who’s standing to his left is crying, forced silence and almost suppressed shaking. John looks forward, down when correct. If he draws attention by a movement, it’ll be to both of them. And in this, it’s like the magehouse. There’s nothing he can do.)

“Strip. On the ground.” They could do this in seconds when they came here, all of them. As ingrained, ground in as the grid, as kneeling, as getting up to the bell. The army has higher standards, enforces them with shock sticks and blows, teaches them with repetition until John can’t remember how many times he’s dropped to the floor, isn’t fully certain how he managed to stand up again (shock stick again and a boot in the stomach, - _ fucking vermin I don’t have all night- _ ). They’re shorter seconds, he thinks, by now. 

Clothes off (at his head, not under him, not behind him.  _ -you think you get a pillow when you get what’s coming to you?- -trying to trip me on the fucking shirt we give you-.  _ Sleeping on the floor again, huddling naked in the yard’s punishment cell.  _ -try what you like, we’ll teach you infestations in the end-.  _ He’ll learn. Try with everything, again, again, again. ( _ Soon oh please soon-)). _

On the ground, hands at his head - visible, always visible. The buzz of the shock stick, the dull thud of boots. Somewhere, not on him. There’s nothing he can do.

The minder starts to the right of him, beyond his sight completely. They’re not consistent in it. Whether you want to see or not, it’s only chance each time, one way or the other. (Once you’re down, raising your head to turn it is an attempt to rise. Is a defiance. The mage to his left is facing that way too, regulation cut hair (quick showers, easy for hands) under his hands and against the floor.  _ -we’ll teach you infestations in the end- _ . They stay). 

_ What is it. How long. How many _ .  Sometimes they’re perfunctory, reminders more than punishments, barely worse than the cursory blows that mean  _ -faster- _ , that mean  _ -this isn’t a soybean field, you’re with the fucking army now- _ . Sometimes they’re here for hours, the minders switching out as they tired, the floor under them turning from position to punishment itself, the other minders watching them for broken stillness, enforcing it with boots again, the lash of whatever they held that day. Hearing strains to do the work of denied sight. The sound through the air, the sound as lashes land, pauses that can mean movement, volume that can mean coming closer. 

The mage on his left cries still, enough that John can hear him even though he’s turned away. Isn’t alone in it. The minder’s barely started; it barely matters. Like a reprimand in class the morning after a night sitting in a grid before a door. If it’s a minute, if it’s a dozen - it’s not only this one that’s here now.  _ -you’re with the fucking army now-.  _ Even with passive healing, most of them carry bruises at least. He can barely think of a group punishment that hasn’t been someone’s not-first that day, wasn’t someone’s not-last by the end.  Faster and again and higher standards, a shockstick and a backhand, a boot in the ribs and the post in the yard, getting up to the bell and to training that feels like a beating after even on days he’s not the one who’s taken one.

He’ll learn. They’ll learn.

They lie on the floor and keep their hands visible and try not to tremble hard enough that it’s not stillness.

He waits for his turn.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


End file.
